If Love is a Labor
by AlmightyChrissy
Summary: DH SPOILERS.  After the final battle, Neville searches for a purpose and finds it with his fellow unwanted.  May or may not become slash later.  WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: If Love is a Labor**

_In case you missed this originally, this fic contains SPOILERS FOR DH. Title comes from "Swing Life Away" by Rise Against_

* * *

Little-known fact about Neville Longbottom #354: he was unsuccessful at influencing the Sorting Hat.

"Hufflepuff," he'd pleaded inside his head. "Please, I can't do it, I can't be a Gryffindor, I don't care if she'll be disappointed, I can't do it. I would be really good at Hufflepuff, I swear!"

"You would indeed," the Hat had told him. "But don't you want to reach your full potential? Don't you want to be everything you're meant for?" And before Neville could even begin to think of an answer, the Hat had shouted "Gryffindor!" and that, as they say, was that.

He still thinks about that sometimes. Overall, Neville knows that he's glad to be a Gryffindor, to have become the person he is today, but there are still moments when he wonders if it all might just have been easier to have been sorted to a different House.

Certainly, conversations like these would be easier could he have them with someone other than Professor McGonagall. He adored her, but mostly from a safe distance, as a heroic figure of myth and legend. He was not entirely comfortable with her sitting across from him at a table in St. Mungo's, so close and so genuinely proud of him. This was not the first such conversation they'd had over the past year, but they were all fairly similar: Neville slightly fidgety, Professor McGonagall beaming but slightly bemused that, of all people, he was leading an underground resistance.

Not that hers was an uncommon reaction. There wasn't much of anyone who could quite believe what Neville had done. _Neville_ couldn't much believe it.

But it was, all in all, kinda nice to be grinned at, to feel the love of his schoolmates and his head of house happy and proud and telling him what a true Gryffindor he was. And when she patted his shoulder awkwardly and told him how sorry she was, he could appreciate the honest caring in the gesture and ignore, almost entirely, how out of place the affection seemed.

Nevertheless, it was a relief when she left his room. He needed the time to process, to judge the wisdom of his next move. He knew that he could wait all he wanted, that it wouldn't really matter, but he'd learned a lot about responsibility and futile actions, and something told him that sooner really could be better, at least for his own sake.

So, he pushed himself up, steadying himself on weary legs. As he walked through the halls, a medwitch clucked her tongue at him, but all he had to do was mumble "Need to see my parents" and everyone left him alone.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were where they always were, the only thing in his life that hadn't changed overnight. He pulled a chair up by their beds and sat there for a moment, pretending their empty smiles were merely expectant, waiting for what he had to say.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is dead," he finally said, voice hoarse. "Mrs. Weasley killed her. Thought you might like that." He smiled, continued on. "I tried to do it. I thought it'd be justice or something. I did, uhm, I did sorta help kill y-Voldemort. Something about his soul? I'm not really sure. I just, you know, chopped a snake's head off." The mundanity of the description was not lost on him, and he let out a nervous giggle as he added "With the Sword of Gryffindor. I pulled it out of the Sorting Hat."

His parents just kept smiling, and the words began to pour out of Neville, words that he hadn't even meant to say. "The Hat asked me, wasn't I glad I wasn't a Hufflepuff, and I wasn't, I really wasn't, because it hurt so much and I was so scared but…I had to do it. People keep telling me you'd be proud."

And then he got to the part he'd come here for. "Gran died. She went out fighting, but it was too much for her heart, I guess. I…uhm…I thought you should know."

No reaction, and then his mother moved, and for a moment his heart burst as he thought she was coming back, but she just handed him a gum wrapper and grinned.

Neville realized that he was just about at the end of his rope, that he was burnt and cut up and his parents were never going to get better and his gran was dead and he could barely choke out a goodbye before leaving the ward.

He collapsed on a bench in the empty corridor and just tried to breathe. He didn't hear the heavy footsteps in the hall until they stopped in front of him. "I just heard," came the impossibly gentle voice.

Professor Sprout sat down next to Neville, pulling his head down to her shoulder and letting him sob quietly. Neville felt faintly embarrassed, but also incredibly exhausted, and it wasn't like this was the first time Sprout had seen him cry. She'd always been a soothing presence for him, someone who liked him for what he did right rather than expecting him to perfect everything he did wrong. "You made us all very proud," she whispered, kissing his hair, and for the first time, he heard the words without detecting any undercurrent of surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

_The idea about Fred comes from a number of post-DH posts and fics I've read, most notably xparrot's "Spook"_

* * *

The NEWTS were sparsely populated; most of the year seven students at Hogwarts were taking the opportunity to redo their last year of classes. Neville, though, was not terribly ambitious in his testing. He figured that Professor Flitwick had taught enough for him to at least pass Charms, he had the knowledge for Herbology (and, to be honest, the instinct to know the right answer when the facts failed him) and, as Professor McGonagall had put it, he'd fought Voldemort to defend the school; what possibly could they test him on in Defense Against the Dark Arts that he didn't know?

So he and some other students (mostly Ravenclaws; no other Gryffindors) sat in classrooms and took tests and generally felt it was all very anticlimactic. And then they were done and most went home to their families. Neville, too, went to his grandmother's large, empty house but was there less than three hours before Professor Sprout Floo-d a message over to tell him that if he found himself with some free time, she'd love some help planting new mandrakes, and after a week of him leaving Hogwarts only to sleep, Sprout suggested he just stay at the school for awhile.

Neville worked hard, tending plants and assisting in the efforts to repair the damage Voldemort and his followers had caused. He stayed busy, working himself nearly to exhaustion, and so it was really not his fault that it took him almost a month to notice the children.

It was Professor Trelawny who first brought them to his attention, suggesting one night at dinner that Nigel, who Neville vaguely remembered as a ridiculously tiny, overly-enthusiastic member of the DA, might have "gotten in touch with the Fates" as a result of his recent ordeal. McGonagall rolled her eyes but then, much to Neville's surprise, softened and told Trelawny that it was good she was spending time with Nigel.

"Wait, Nigel's _here_?" Neville blurted out. The other staff and faculty looked at him with various degrees of confusion; he'd previously been near silent at meals.

"Well, yes," Professor Sinistra finally said. "All of them are."

He still wasn't getting it. "All of who?"

Hagrid looked over at Neville sadly. "All of the children who don't have anywhere to go after…what happened. Those who lost their whole families."

"Oh." Neville instantly felt a pang of guilt; he hadn't considered what would happen to the families of all those dead witches and wizards. Of course he wasn't the only person left alone.

But it wasn't until two days later, while trying to encourage root growth in a particularly stubborn cutting, that the enormity of the problem hit Neville. "But where will they go in the fall?"

Sprout paused in her work. "I'm sorry, dear. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The...the orphans who are staying here. When the students come back, they can't stay, can they?"

Sprout tilted her head. "Well, many of them are students here, but as for the others, I'm not sure anyone really knows. I suppose the Ministry will try to find distant relatives or…find willing families to take them in."

Neville felt the seedling of an idea in the back of his mind, but it was still too soon for him to even begin to realize what it could germinate into, so he just frowned and carried on with his plant.

About a week later, Neville realized the need for him to consider what _he_ was going to do when fall came. He was fairly sure that if he asked, or even vaguely shuffled around and looked uncomfortable, Professor Sprout would ask him to stay on as an assistant, but he wasn't sure he really wanted that. It felt like putting off the inevitable, procrastinating on joining the real world, and while that idea was intoxicating he could hear the voice of his grandmother reprimanding him, asking him what his father would think. _Nothing,_ thought Neville mutinously, not for the first time, _he wouldn't think anything anymore_.

It was in the midst of this pondering of options that Neville received an invitation to stay with the Weasleys for awhile. Pigwidgeon brought the letter, written by Harry and signed by what seemed to Neville to be half the people in the world but was really just the Weasley family and Hermione. His first instinct was to politely refuse, reminded of childhood birthday party invites delivered by sullen children whose mothers knew that you couldn't leave out only one child in the class. But, much to his surprise, Neville realized he actually wanted to see his friends, so he told Sprout when he'd be gone and sent a message back, accepting.

The Weasley household was different than anything he'd ever experienced. Maturity and tragedy had done little to temper the Weasley enthusiasm, and even George greeted him energetically. The warmth of the welcome was somewhat unexpected, and Neville found himself reverting back to his default shyness—even with the DA, he'd never been close to Harry or Ron, and he was privately quite sure that Hermione still constantly expected him to explode a potion onto her. It quickly became clear to him what the dynamics of interpersonal relationships at the Burrow were: Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny were clearly paired off and spent most of their time as couples or in a group of four; Percy and Mr. Weasley spent long hours at work, trying to rebuild the Ministry as well as their relationship; George spent most of his time by himself. That left Neville mostly to his own devices. The Weasleys (and Harry and Hermione) were gracious hosts who made valiant efforts to entertain him, but Neville found himself quite content to be left alone. He repaired flower beds, scolded gnomes, and tried to imagine a normal life of this kind of home maintenance.

After a few days of this, Mrs. Weasley told Neville that he needed a break from his gardening efforts (Neville was not consulted in this decision), and so he sat at the kitchen table and watched cooking implements fly past him. Mrs. Weasley made pleasant small talk until Neville, in a fit of bravery combined with the desperate need to abdicate conversational responsibility, asked "What do you remember about my parents?"

She sent dough into the oven and sat down across from him. "What would you like to know?"

He shrugged. "Anything. All my gran ever told me was what great Aurors they were."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Oh, they were! It was such a surprise though; they were such sweet people. Your father wouldn't even hurt a pixie, but he was just unstoppable as an Auror." She sighed wistfully. "I do miss them. Your mother and I were quite close at Hogwarts."

"I never knew that," Neville told her. His mother was even more of a mystery than his father; he had little more than photo albums to tell him about her life. "I don't think Gran knew much about her."

She grinned wickedly. "I shouldn't speak ill of the dead but…your mother and grandmother didn't much get along. They both adored your father, so they kept a truce, but she used to complain endlessly about having to visit your father's family." Her expression grew more serious. "But all three of them, your whole family, they loved you so much. There hadn't been a Longbottom baby since Frank, and they were thrilled to have you. And your parents, well, they were crazy about you."

Neville found it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. "Th-thank you for telling me that."

She didn't respond except to hug him briefly around his shoulders. "Go tell the kids that treats will be ready in a few minutes."

That night, Neville lay awake, thinking about Mrs. Weasley's words. As strange as it seemed, Neville had never really thought about his parents in the context of, well, being his parents. He knew they had been Aurors, great ones, and that they were shells now, but he'd never thought about that year they'd been together, been a family. He wondered who he'd have become if his parents had stayed sane, if he'd had them through his childhood. Maybe he'd…

There was a crash, and Neville sat bolt upright. His first thought was that George was playing a prank on him, but he soon realized that the person before him was rather transparent. "Hi Neville!" Fred said cheerfully.

This was, of course, not the first ghost Neville had seen, but it was the first time he'd seen the ghost of someone he actually knew. "What…why?" he asked.

Fred smirked. "I'm just trying to help a fellow Gryffindor. Nice work with the sword, by the way."

"Thanks," Neville muttered automatically.

"Anyway," Fred continued, "Looks like you can't sleep. Well, I have for you a free preview of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' newest product, the Snoozo." Fred paused. "Okay, the name needs work, but the pill is quite effective. So much so that I'd cancel your plans for, oh, the next three days."

"You know, I think I'll take my chances the natural way." Neville rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Fred, why are you…why aren't you…shouldn't you be at rest?"

Fred smiled. "Oh, I could rest if I wanted to. But I'd be leaving George all alone, and I can't bear the thought of him making trouble without me." His tone was light, but there was a certain seriousness to his eyes, and Neville thought about how unnatural it had been to see one twin without the other and thought maybe he understood a bit.

Neville nodded. "Well, it's nice to see you again." Fred grinned and disappeared.

The seed of an idea shot down some roots.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

When his time with the Weasleys ended, Neville went back to his grandmother's house. He stared at the empty rooms, the ugly furniture, and wondered what anyone could expect him to do with all that space. There was only one of him, and he didn't much care for being indoors anyway. He knew he couldn't sell the place, that it was still too soon and meant too much to other members of his family. But still. He wondered idly if he could donate the extra space to someone who needed it.

Neville paced the creaking floorboards and pondered what it would be like to live in the house all alone. The idea was a bit horrifying; the noises of the old house settling had been bad enough when there was someone else around. Plus, truth be told, even in his most awkward moments Neville had loved living at Hogwarts much more than living here, for many reasons but primarily because at Hogwarts he was so rarely alone. There was always someone else nearby, at the least, and Neville had liked that.

He thought about all his friends, going back to school for their seventh years, and he wished desperately that he would be joining them, going back to the camaraderie and companionship.

It was thinking about Hogwarts that led him to his idea, the one he'd had for weeks without realizing it. He dismissed it as ridiculous, but couldn't shake the thought and found himself walking around the house, envisioning, saying to himself that it really could work. He went back to Sprout and the gardens and tried to tell himself how silly he was being, but the idea bloomed and flourished and dug in deep, and he realized he'd never have peace from himself if he didn't at least try.

So he talked to Professor McGonagall, who raised an eyebrow and sent an owl to the ministry, who replied with the rather unexpected information that Percy Weasley was handling the matter of, as the Ministry was putting it, the Hogwarts orphans.

So Neville put on his best robes and made a trip to the Ministry. He realized that he hadn't been there since his fifth year, when he'd fought Death Eaters and broken his father's wand, and he recalled the glorious sense of triumph that had come afterwards, the feeling that he'd finally done something worthwhile.

He held onto that feeling as he made his way to Percy's office, a tiny room near the Minister's suite. He stood in the doorway, too hesitant to knock on the open door, and waited for Percy to notice him.

Finally, finally Percy looked up from his stack of papers. "Oh, hello Neville. What brings you here?" He gestured to a chair and Neville sat nervously. "You're not someone I'd expect to see here. Can I help you with something?"

Neville twisted his hands together. "I…uhm…I was wondering if you knew yet what was going to happen to the children at Hogwarts? The ones who won't be staying for classes?"

Percy frowned. "I'm still looking for relatives, either here or in the Muggle world. Why do you ask?"

Neville gulped. "I'm not sure that's, you know, the best idea. To send them away. It's just…" He tried to choke down his stammering. "I just think that they've all got to be pretty upset and it doesn't seem right to send them to live with people who don't really want them."

Percy drew himself up haughtily. "Well certainly we would do everything in our power to ensure that did not happen."

"But," and this was the sticking point for Neville, "if the relatives really wanted to take care of these children, wouldn't they have said something by now?"

"We…." Percy deflated and his voice grew quiet. "We don't have any other options. Neville, I don't know what else to do."

There it was. The perfect opening, the chance Neville had come here for, his moment of truth. He forced himself to make eye contact with Percy. "That's why I'm here. I want…" he couldn't do it anymore and had to drop his eyes. "I want them to stay with me."

Percy's mouth open and closed a few times soundlessly, before he choked out "Seriously?" Neville nodded. "That's very noble, but I'm not sure you understand the magnitude of the responsibility you would be taking on."

Neville shook his head. "I'm not afraid of the work. I've thought about this, really I have."

"Yes, but…" A sigh. "Those children are hurting. They're going to need…"

"I know." A rush of confidence ran through him. "With all due respect, I think I know very well what they're going through and what they're going to need, and I don't think they're going to get that from distant relatives who probably don't even know them." He took a deep breath. "I have this huge house and I have the time and I…I want them there. They should go somewhere where someone wants them."

There were a few moments of silence where Neville sat wide-eyed and spent while Percy stared at a quill hovering a few centimeters above his desktop. Finally he raised his eyes to meet Neville's. "You're sure?"

"Yes. You don't need to lecture me about what happens if I can't do this. I'm not just going to get bored and give up."

"Boredom is not my primary concern," Percy muttered, then set his shoulders. "Right. Well. I think I would have to clear all this with the Minister, but barring that, I think you may be our best option."

Neville let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. If all else failed, at least he'd tried.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR **

* * *

After the decision was made, events started to move rather quickly. Shacklebolt's reply came only two days after Percy and Neville's conversation, freeing Neville to begin preparation in earnest. He started to make lists of all the things he needed to do, but quickly realized that the lists were taking time that could be spent actually doing things.

So he went room to room, moving and sorting and thinking. There were far too many tables and not nearly enough beds. He tried transfiguring one of the tables but ended up with nothing more than a squishy ottoman. Still, furniture aside it was starting to come together. Planning an orphanage, Neville realized, was a bit like planning a garden. You created your areas for certain things and made sure nothing disagreed with what was next to it.

He charmed walls blue and yellow and green and red, hung pictures and mirrors and curtains. He found, miniaturized and stored in an attic, overstuffed chairs, soft-worn quilts, old toys. He examined the kitchen and sitting rooms and took a perverse delight in removing anything that had ever scared him as a child. With a whispered apology to his gran, he even took a particularly ugly clock outside and blasted it to bits with his wand. He politely asked old portraits if they could smile a bit more. He chose one potential bedroom and, tears in his eyes, used a Sticking Charm to create a border of Drooble's Gum wrappers, which looked surprisingly nice. He spoke to all his indoor plants, warning them about the increase in population and noise level to come, and he swore that the plants he'd brought from Hogwarts turned greener.

A week and a half after Shacklebolt gave his approval, Neville was wrestling with an old and ugly armoire when he heard a series of popping noises. He boggled wide-eyed as half the faculty of Hogwarts appeared next to his front door. "Need some help with that?" Hagrid asked. Neville nodded dumbly as Hagrid lifted the cabinet and carried it out the door.

McGonagall watched him leave and turned back to Neville with a smile. "We have come to offer our services, Mr. Longbottom. Please put us to work."

Neville gaped at her before stammering "Beds. Uhm. I need beds. I tried to…but…only an 'Acceptable' OWL you know…"

But McGonagall was already heading up the stairs, Flitwick at her side muttering to himself about waving pixies. Neville turned back to Sprout. "I feel a bit ambushed."

Sprout frowned. "Why's that, dear?"

He shrugged. "I didn't really expect anyone here, or to…" he trailed off. "This wasn't necessary. I could have managed."

She put a hand to his cheek. "No one ever doubted that! We're all just so proud of you for doing this wonderful thing. We wanted to help."

Neville found he couldn't lift his gaze from the floor and he felt himself blush. "Thank you. I do appreciate it." He tried to set his shoulders in a manner that suggested confidence he didn't feel. "Anyway, would you like to see my gardens?"

Sprout smiled. "Oh certainly, but later. Right now, you and I have something else to take care of."

"Where are we going?" Neville asked as Sprout pulled him toward the fireplace.

She picked up a handful of Floo powder. "We need to tend to some of the preparation you've neglected." She tossed the powder in the fire, announced "Hogwarts" and stepped through. Neville shrugged and followed her.

She led him through the corridors of Hogwarts, down steps he hadn't seen in months. Finally, they stopped in front of the Hufflepuff dorms as Sprout said the password to release the lock on the door. Inside the Hufflepuff common room sat a number of children, and Neville's heart sank. In all his time making plans, he'd thought about the welfare of the orphans in general, but never realized he was forgetting to think about them as actual people. They were being sent to him and they'd never even met him. He stepped forward into the room. "Hello."

In the corner a figure, still improbably small, popped up. "Neville!" Nigel bounced. "Look, guys, it's Neville! I told you about him."

"Good things, I hope," Neville said, trying to resist the urge to twist his hands in his shirt. Nigel had been a housemate, a fellow student, just last term; now he was clearly part of this group of children and Neville was clearly not.

He attempted to guess at the ages of the children. The Ministry had told him that there were ten children too young for Hogwarts and without any willing relatives. Neville tried to determine which ten they were, but almost all the children looked tiny. One girl waved at him and he smiled back. Another boy, though, slammed a toy centaur into the wall. "Don't see why we can't stay there."

Nigel rolled his eyes. "I _told_ you! Because other people need these rooms! You can come in a few years, when you're old enough!"

"It really is better to wait," another child added. "You'll want the time to get ready."

The boy dug the toy into the carpet angrily. "I just want to go home."

Neville froze. What could he possibly say to that? "I'm sorry," he said, without thinking much about it. He lowered himself to the floor next to the boy, still on autopilot. "What's your name?"

"Brian," the child answered sullenly.

"Hi Brian. I'm Neville." He fought a rising wave of uncertainty. "Did your mum and dad fight You-Know-Who?" Brian nodded. "Mine did too, the last time. They're…very sick now, so I know how you feel. I wish you could go home too. And I'm really sorry you can't but that's why I want you to come stay with me, because there everyone will know how you feel and maybe…maybe that can be okay too? If you can't go home?"

Brian turned away to push his centaur across the floor, and Neville deflated. He thought he'd almost had it. But when he stood up, Sprout had tears in her eyes and Nigel was shaking a little. Neville swallowed hard. "Uhm. Nigel, could you introduce me to everyone else?"

Nigel took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, before pointing out the other children who were too young for Hogwarts. In addition to Brian, there was also Myrna and Alistar who were close to Hogwarts age, Celeste, Jamie, Eileen, Nicholas, Ian, and Roger who were between eight and four, and Aurora, who was two and apparently spent most of her time with Hagrid. He tried to at least say hello to each of them. The children all seemed overly serious, and Neville's heart broke a bit.

Sprout dragged him out soon after, because Neville would have been content to just watch the children play for approximately the rest of his life. It wasn't that he hadn't previously realized how hurt the children must be, but it had just been made clear to him how powerless he was in the face of that grief. It was his connection to the children, their common backgrounds, that made him want to do this, but he'd never been able to ease his own pain over what had happened to his parents; how could he help anyone else?

But he took deep breaths and stayed calm and went back to his grandmother's house, where McGonagall and Flitwick proudly displayed their handiwork. Neville was in awe of the colorful bunkbeds, the rooms set up for maximum usage and enjoyment. The professors waved off his thanks, saying that they were only too happy to help in this undertaking. They left together and Neville found himself alone, thinking of his parents, of all the dead parents, and wondering how he'd ever expected he could pick up the pieces.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE  
**

* * *

The end of August came both quicker and slower than Neville was expecting. Percy brought the children by portkey, and he and Neville worked to show them bedrooms, bathrooms, interesting spots outdoors. They all unpacked together, putting away clothing and storing salvaged toys. A slightly uncomfortable silence permeated all their actions, despite Percy's valiant attempts at conversation.

But eventually, all the procrastinating and delaying the inevitable had to end, and Percy left with a nervous farewell. Neville watched him leave, then turned back to the children. Okay, now what?

Alistair, the oldest, saved him. "Can we play Gobstones?"

"Of course." That was an easier question than he'd expected. "Here, let me show you a good spot outside."

And with that, he had apparently given the children permission to be children, as they drifted over to dolls and cards. Eventually, Neville found himself left with only Aurora, who was investigating bugs in the lawn. He stretched out near her and tried to keep an eye on the other children. He felt the hesitance in the air, the way eyes would occasionally look at him then quickly dart away. Neville was not stupid. He knew that the situation had to seem temporary to them, just one more place that wasn't their home. And maybe it was, maybe this was just a place for them until they could go to Hogwarts, but Neville was determined to make it the best time before Hogwarts he could. He just didn't quite know _how._

The rest of the day went mostly the same. He fed them soup and sandwiches, which they seemed to enjoy, and after supper the younger children chased fireflies while Myrna tried to teach Alistair and Brian to play chess. He sent the children to bed gradually, as each started to get cranky, and eventually he was alone in the sitting room. He let out a deep breath. At least he'd survived the first day.

It was, of course, while he was congratulating himself for not making an utter mess of things so far that he heard the crying start. He walked up the stairs and tracked the noise to the room the younger boys were sharing. His hand went to the doorknob, but he hesitated, unsure of himself. Would whoever it was welcome the intrusion? Neville had done his own fair share of crying himself to sleep, but looking back he found his memories equally split between times he'd wished for someone to console him and times he'd hoped to be left alone. As he considered what to do, he heard more whimpering from one of the bedrooms behind him. He let go of the doorknob and slid to the floor, pressing his back against the wall. He was not yet sure enough of himself to go into the rooms and offer comfort, but neither could he leave the children to cry alone. He stayed in the hallway, just listening, until all was silent. Still, it was long minutes before he could push himself off the floor and head for his own room.

The next day, Neville woke with stiffness in his back and exhaustion clouding his mind. He'd slept too little, spent too long sitting on a hard floor, and in the back of his mind he was protesting that he was far too young to be suffering like this.

But he pushed his misery aside in order to successfully make breakfast, amazingly not burning anything. As the children ate, Neville watched them to see if he could tell who seemed more red-eyed, more tired, but none stood out.

The day was spent in activity, registering all but the youngest for primary school, picking up basic school supplies, and (even though he knew it was cheating) purchasing some toys he was lacking. He bought more chess pieces, an extra set of gobstones, some squishy animals. He found a toy hippogriff that stamped the ground and was immediately charmed. The children thanked him in a formal way that made his heart twist. He spent the night in the hallway again, listening to tears.

On the third day, Neville woke up and felt an almost physical pull towards the sunlight. Once he'd gotten the children fed, he went into the garden. He brought Aurora, and Ian and Celeste followed him, the other young children opting to play with the older ones. He examined the plants and noticed with some amusement that Celeste was copying his movements. "Here," he said to her, lifting her off the ground so she could see the top of one of the taller plants, "touch this one." She poked it with a small finger. "No, not like that. Pet it. Pretend it's a cat." She ran her finger hesitantly down a leaf and startled back at the noise it made. Neville kept a tight hold on her. "You hear that? It purred. That means it likes you."

Of course, that meant he had to let Ian pet the plant, then Aurora, who squirmed with delight when the leaf actually stretched out to touch her. After that, they were hooked, and Neville enlisted their help in watering the plants and picking off dead leaves and flowers (Ian apologized to each plant as he removed their dead parts until Neville explained that the plants enjoyed it.) He felt slightly guilty that he was essentially using small children as slave labor, but their obvious enthusiasm won him over. As the day progressed, more of the children came over to look at the plants, investigate which ones reacted positively to human touch and sneak behind Neville's back to poke at the ones he'd warned them against. After the third time he had to stop the boys from antagonizing the honking daffodils, he realized it was time for lunch and managed to drag everyone back inside.

After they ate, Aurora fell asleep in the shade while some of the children ran off to play a game that, as far as Neville could tell, was called "Muggles and Wizards" and involved a lot of hiding in bushes. Alistair, Jamie, and Roger were huddled around a gobstones board, and Neville drifted towards them. They all looked up at his approach. "Oh, keep going!" he told them. "I just want to watch."

They shrugged and returned to their game. True to his word, Neville only watched as Jamie and Roger finished a close match, Jamie finally reigning victorious. "You're both quite good at this," Neville told them.

Jamie smiled proudly. "Thank you!"

Neville sat down near the children. "I was never very good at gobstones. I think the hole just really likes me."

"Well you have to be really careful," Alistair said. "Here, let me show you." He took a stone from Jamie and rolled it, watching as it settled in the center ring. "See?"

Neville took another one of the stones and tried to roll it gently. It stopped far short of even the outer scoring zone. "I guess that was too careful."

Roger giggled. "Push it more like this!" He demonstrated, and Neville tried to emulate his movements. This time the stone rolled just past the outer scoring zone on the opposite side. "That was closer!" Roger offered encouragingly.

After a half-hour of work, the three children had finally turned Neville into a passable gobstones player. He felt an absurd sense of accomplishment from this, and it carried him through the rest of his day.

That night, when Neville stood in the hallway and listened to the children, something snapped inside of him and, filled with the same sort of feeling that had overwhelmed him the night he'd tried to keep Harry, Ron, and Hermione from leaving the Gryffindor dorm, he shouted "Okay, that's enough!" The sniffling stopped abruptly, and Neville felt a bit guilty. "Right. I just…want to talk. You guys want to come out?" Slowly, doors opened and tousled heads poked out. Neville noticed that some of the children merely looked sleepy, while others were red-eyed and tearstained. "Come on downstairs."

As the children headed down the stairs and towards the fireplace, Neville poked his head into the rooms. Myrna and Aurora were still asleep in the room they shared, as were Roger and Nicholas. He let them sleep, closing doors behind him as he went to join the other children. He realized that a few of them, all wet-eyed, looked terrified, and he cursed his own lack of tact. "I'm not mad," he declared. Nothing seemed to change. "I just wanted to tell you…" he trailed off.

"Tell us what?" asked Alistair.

Neville bit his lower lip. What indeed? What could he say to make anything better. "I wanted to tell you that I understand." He found himself reverting back to the same tactics he'd used on Brian before. "During the first battle with You-Know-Who, my parents were hurt very badly and they couldn't really be my parents anymore." He took a deep breath. "So, if you're…sad….at night, that's okay, and I understand why you're sad. And if you want to be sad by yourself, that's fine. But if you don't want to be sad and by yourself, I want you to know that you can come to talk to me."

The children looked at him with serious eyes until Celeste asked "Will you read us a story?"

Neville smiled. "Absolutely." He found a book of fairy tales and, looking around at the children sprawled on the floor, conjured some pillows and blankets before sitting down in the middle of the floor to begin reading. They were all asleep by the time he reached the last page, and he straightened the blankets over them before heading for his own bed. It was, at the very least, progress.


	6. Chapter 6

Apologies for the delay in new material-- I had a minor personal crisis which kept me from focusing on my writing. I'll try to do better now. Thank you to everyone who has sent feedback so far-- it is greatly appreciated.

**Part Six  
**

* * *

Storytime became a regular fixture in the Longbottom household, a closer to each day. There was much less sleeping on the floor, as Neville generally herded the sleepier children off to bed before they could conk out, but in spirit it remained much the same.

He could still hear crying at night, but it tended not to last quite as long. There were even a few evenings where Neville would look up from his reading to find a small body burrowing into the opposite corner of the couch. So far, none of the children had opted to talk to him, even when he tried to start the conversation, but he liked it far better to have them sleeping dry-eyed near him rather than crying alone.

As August turned into September, school began, and Neville found his daily activity dramatically reduced. Mornings were hectic, as he tried to make sure nine children all had their separate possessions ready for the day, but once he sent them on their way, the older children leading the younger, it was only him and Aurora left for hours. She was surprisingly agreeable and often did not mind follow him on his vegetable tending, especially if he gave her some berries to eat while she "helped" him. On rainy days, they stayed inside and listened to the wireless. Trevor took a liking to the girl, and Neville sometimes found himself making up stories for her about the toad's various adventures.

Much to Neville's surprise, his friends back at school occasionally wrote to him. Harry and Ron tended to just add postscripts onto other people's letters, but Hermione and Ginny wrote him notes filled with the going-ons at Hogwarts and questions about his own life. Luna wrote him as well, detailing plants and animals he'd never heard of before and how he might best protect himself against them. Neville realized the value in these letters and often read them to the children. He told Luna this, and she wrote back that she was thrilled that he was educating future generations about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

From time to time, people even coae to visit. Percy had Ministry-required visits to make to ensure that the children are healthy and that Neville was not, say, using them to work an illegal gillyweed farm, and since the children were quite fine and Neville's plants were all well within regulations, those visits were fairly pleasant.

And then, there was Molly Weasley. She stopped by under the pretence of wanting to see how everything was going, but as soon as she saw the condition of Neville's cupboards she began questioning him. What sorts of meals did she make for those children? How much variety was there? She interrogated Neville and found his skills lacking.

And thus, the offer. Neville tried to refuse. "I couldn't ask that of you, Mrs. Weasley," he protested.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "You aren't asking! I'm offering. Actually, I'm insisting. It's for the children, really."

And how could Neville say no to that?

So, every Wednesday Mrs. Weasley came over and taught Neville to cook. He had basic skills, but didn't really know what do to with food. She gave him an old copy of Betty Caldron's Basic Cooking for Witches (someone had written on the cover, possibly in crayon 'And Wizards Who Really Should Help Around The House As Well') and they worked their way through some of the basics.

The children didn't seem to notice any difference, but Neville at least was thrilled not to be eating the same three things every day. Plus, the cooking lessons added a new aspect to his daily routine, made him take a look around him and see that he and everyone else were surviving, that even if everyone wasn't happy all the time, he was starting to see, at the very least, contentment among the children. Even Brian had mostly given up his anger and spent very little time pouting.

"Goodness," Neville said to himself, "I'm actually doing it."


End file.
